First
by ournoisyhearts
Summary: Castiel is the first to know. He likes that he's first. Sam/Castiel.


_Come across you lost and broken  
You're coming to but you're slow in waking  
You start to shake, you still haven't spoken, what happened_

They're coming back and you just don't know when  
You want to cry but there's nothing coming  
They're gonna push until you give in or say when

**the fray, "say when"**

Castiel is the first one to know, Sam tells him.

Of course, Castiel already knows this. He has been sensing Sam's presence for days now, sensed him waiting. Watching. He'll admit he is surprised that Sam didn't go to Dean first, to show his brother that _yes, he is alive, and yes, he's fine _(even if he's not fine- but Dean doesn't have to know that), but Castiel isn't one to complain. He's just glad that Sam is out of the cage, Lucifer-free and able to walk the Earth's surface once more. He'll also admit that he's a little disappointed _he_ wasn't the one to free Sam from Hell, but that's irrelevant. Castiel is the first one Sam tells, and he likes that he's first.

It's on a Wednesday, while Castiel is watching Dean play soccer with Ben from afar, that Sam first calls out to him. He can hear his name in Sam's thoughts, feel it tugging him towards the younger Winchester.

_Castiel?_ His name is thought out like a question in Sam's mind, asking him to come. _Please,_ he adds as an afterthought.

Seconds later, Castiel is standing in a run-down motel room, complete with peeling red wallpaper and a creaking air conditioning unit. Across from him, Sam perches on the edge of a single queen bed with his head in his hands and his hair falling over his eyes. It seems even longer than Castiel remembers it being, but of course it's longer. There are no barber shops in Hell, Sam had no way to cut it. The flutter of Castiel's trench coat ruffles across the silent room, and Sam's head jerks up, his eyes wide with shock.

"Cas?" He sounds surprised, like he wasn't expecting the angel to show.

"You called," Castiel replies simply, focusing his vessel's sharp blue eyes on the man in front of him. Aside from his hair, Sam's physique is the same- broad shoulders, tall frame. His cheekbones are a little more sunken in, and his eyes look tired, worn, but aside from that, he remains the same Sam Winchester he was before he jumped into the cage. On the outside, anyway.

"I…" Sam rubs at his eyes, unsure of what to say. Castiel takes a tentative step forward and is suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out to Sam, put a hand on his shoulder, something.

He doesn't.

"How did you get out?" He asks instead, pursing his lips. Sam shakes his head softly and rubs at his chin, expression wary.

"You're the first one who knows," he murmurs, purposely avoiding the question. Castiel sighs but doesn't point out the obvious shift in conversation, and instead turns to face the window, staring out at the late afternoon sun through the crack in the curtains.

"I know," he answers finally, looking back at Sam, who glances up at him quizzically. "I could sense you. I've been…keeping track of you for awhile now," he admits somewhat sheepishly.

"So I take it you got your grace back?" Sam asks. Castiel nods, not meeting his gaze. He can feel Sam's eyes on him, prying, trying to read his blank face. "You can sit, you know."

Castiel shuffles over to the bed and sits down a good foot away from Sam, and only then does he finally meet the other man's eyes. Up close, he can see how broken Sam is, how much being in the cage has changed him. There is no stubborn set to his jaw, no friendly twinkle in his eyes. Now they are just two deep pools of hazel with nothing behind them.

"Can you…don't tell Dean. Not yet," Sam pleads suddenly, those emotionless eyes widening, "I'm not ready for him to know."

Castiel nods and neither of them say anything for awhile, each of them shifting awkwardly on the bed every so often. A small stripe of sunlight spills in through the crack in the curtains he had been staring at earlier, and as he ponders the light on the carpet, it occurs to him how dark the motel room is. As if reading his thoughts, Sam coughs and scratches the back of his neck, opening his mouth to speak.

"I'm not really…used to the sun yet," he explains in a low voice as Castiel turns his head around slowly to face Sam. The other man stares down at the stained brown carpet, his hands rubbing carefully across the fabric of his jeans.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Castiel asks softly. Sam remains silent, but based on the rough shift in his posture and the paused movement of his wrists, Castiel already knows the answer. Sam Winchester is not okay, but Castiel isn't going to question him now. He's just going to keep Sam company, and be grateful that Sam had told him first.


End file.
